Know Your Place
by ChangingTheCircumstances
Summary: Sebastian Moron takes on a job given to him by Jim Moriarty. Unlike most this is one is of personal interest to Jim.
1. Job Offer

I sat in a plush chair by a redwood desk with a matching coffee table in front of me. Both of exquisite beauty and elegance, the pieces of furniture alone probably cost several thousand pounds never mind the rest of the room's fittings.

On the other side of the table, in an equally, if not more expensive chair, was Moriarty himself, the Napoleon of Crime. His head was laid back, eyes closed and hands touching by the very tips of their fingers. I could tell he was thinking, but about what not even God knew. However, I sometimes wondered if the devil knew instead. The wicked smile on his face suggested something involving a dead Sherlock at the moment.

Sipping my tea, I tried to wait for him to begin the reason for calling me down here but patients was never my strong suit. I tried to distract myself by looking around the room, trying to spot out new things. Sadly, it didn't work. I had sat in this room so many times that I could probably put it back together again exactly how it was right now if it was later trashed. So, instead, I tried tapping my foot, making up different tunes. That didn't work either.

Finally I had had it. "Oh hell! Tell me what I need to hear already Moriarty."

With an unparalleled grace, he slowly lifted his head forward and opened those icy eyes. He continued to smile as he spoke the first words that I had heard from him since the whole time I had been here. "I told you Seb. Call me Jim when we're alone."

"And I told you to stop calling me Seb," I said with a voice I knew dripped with annoyance. I hated how he called me that almost as much as I hated how he always insisted on me calling him Jim. However I didn't mind hating him. In fact, I loved hating him. It seemed to always set me ablaze with rage. Being full of rage was always fun when I was taking on a job which was usually the case when I saw him.

"I have a job for you Seb."

I smirked. It was so obvious that this was a business meeting. Even though I was nothing compared to the consulting criminal himself, I was now familiar with his different attitudes that coincided with the different reasons for calling me to his side.

"Details?" I then asked, wondering who I was to take down this time.

"It is a certain pest that is currently being bothersome."

_Huh_, I thought. Jim rarely asked me to kill someone for his own personal reasons. It was uncommon because of the lack of money that it brought to our thriving little (quite the opposite really) business and because of the "predictability of it all" as Jim put it.

I took a deep breath, popped my neck and then questioned, "Who is it?"

"I'm sure you've heard of him before. He keeps to the shadows but controls much of Britain, similar to ourselves."

"I don't care what he is like _Jim_. I want his name now," I replied, my anger slowly rising.

Jim stood up, smoothing his gray suit as he did. Not making a sound on the wood paneling, he advanced towards me. He didn't blink once, something that would have unnerved most men but which I was familiar to. He put his head right by ear, his skin just barely brushing my own.

His voice was deadly calm as he spoke. He only whispered to words but I shivered with anticipation as he said them all the same.

"Mycroft Holmes."


	2. Hit

I sat looking out the cloudy window. Mycroft Holmes was two houses away in one of his many residences. For the moment I kneeled by my sniper rifle looking down the scope. I wasn't planning to shoot him, not yet any way. Moriarty had given me specific instructions on the exact date that he needed to be executed which happened to be tomorrow.

I was stationed in an apartment in the middle of renovations. This was so that I could monitor Mycroft's comings and goings because, despite the fact that Moriarty had given me a specific day, he had not given me a time. However, he insured me that he would be at this particular home at sometime during the next day.

For the whole of the day I sat, I watched, and I waited as I calculated the time that he was most likely to come. That night I slept for about three hours. I didn't want to miss the chance to shoot Mycroft but I could not get sloppy because of a lack of sleep.

He must have gone while I was asleep because the lights were down in the house. I remained by my rifle the rest of the day. Mycroft came by at about nine o'clock in the morning but there wasn't a clear shot of his head. I growled with irritation at this but I still kept the smirk on. Whenever anyone came under my scope I couldn't help but laugh at the fact that they only had less than twenty-four hours to live and they didn't even realize it.

Mycroft was back again at a little past two thirty but there still was never a clear shot. I sighed. There was nothing to worry about though. Moriarty would know that Mycroft would come into view at some point I just had to wait.

Finally, at around six that afternoon, Mycroft came to his sitting room. This was the only room, from my point of view, that had almost the whole area open to gunfire. Mycroft was sitting down, drinking his tea, and reading a bit of the newspaper.

I aimed towards the temple of his skull with the poise of a tiger. My finger moved towards the trigger. Slowly, I pushed it down—

Mycroft Holmes would be a problem no more.

I packed up my bags and left. Moriarty would make sure to erase all evidence of my being there. Knowing him he would probably even plant finger- and footprints to make it seem like one of his worthless pawns had done it.

I smiled to myself as I began my walk home. I made sure to avoid the flashing lights and wailing sirens.


	3. Funeral

The police had caught a man named Gareth Head. A simple nobody that Moriarty had decided to put the blame on. The Funeral was about a week later. It was a small service and the only ones I could recognize was Sherlock and Watson.

Most people would have been happy with the arrest if their brother had gotten killed. Despite this I could tell from Sherlock's face that he would continue with his own investigation. He wasn't crying which surprised me but he always was cold. John was holding his hand, obviously trying to comfort him. Sort of like the opposite of Moriarty and me, John was probably the only one that could tell that Sherlock was grieving if he actually was.

I kept to the shadows more out of respect than safety. Sherlock Holmes had seen glimpses of me but never the whole. The same went for John Watson. The preacher said a view words and then slowly but surely they disbanded.

I watched Sherlock and Watson say good bye to several people but they were soon heading back my way. I stayed in the shadows as they passed me and kept still until they were almost at the curb of the road. Then I made my move.

"Sherlock Holmes," I whispered by his ear as I passed. "I have a message for you."

I didn't look back because I didn't need to. I knew he would follow. Moving down the street, I made sure not to move to fast or to slow. I lead them to an alleyway off the corner of a busy road and stood in the shadows, careful to not show my entire face. Both Sherlock and Watson stood there waiting for whatever I had to say.

"I see you are a messenger for Moriarty," Sherlock said simply before I could speak.

The response made me want to growl but I kept my composure. Once again he reminded me of Moriarty. "Yeah, you could say that," was my reply despite my bubbling annoyance. I added a smile to my words that probably looked more like a mad grin. I scratched my head as I waited to see if Sherlock or Watson were going to ask anything.

Sherlock looked at me again with squinted eyes. I could tell by the sudden hardness of his stare that he had figured out that I was the one who had killed Mycroft. He still didn't say anything though which made me smile even more.

"The message," I say as I moved towards the busy streets, "is that everything has its place and that you should know yours."

And with that I walked out of sight from Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.


End file.
